


be still my soul

by Anonymous



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: (sort of), Angry Sex, Angst, Austrian Grand Prix 2019, Dubious Consent, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 15:03:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20508980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: It’s all a game, really. A cruel game to see who will break first. They haven’t spoken since the race, but Charles is always there, casting wistful glances at him during the drivers’ parade, during interviews. Max can’t do anything except hope they’ll never have to share a podium again.





	be still my soul

It’s all a game, really. A cruel game to see who will break first. They haven’t spoken since the race, but Charles is always there, casting wistful glances at him during the drivers’ parade, during interviews. Max can’t do anything except hope they’ll never have to share a podium again. The media can twist it into whatever they desire. It’s all drama to feed the ‘tragic hero’ story they’ve fabricated for Charles. But Max sees through it, decodes the message behind every single one of those stares; “Can’t you see how much this is hurting me?” they scream. And he has to endure them every time he feels Charles’ eyes burn into his back. He doesn’t feel bad, though. Charles is being selfish. That’s all there is to it; nothing more and nothing less. He’s brought this on himself and now he’s silently begging Max to put him back together. 

It’s always the same when Max turns around to meet Charles’ eyes. The pain ebbs at first, then rises like a tsunami, crashing into him, knocking him down to the ground. Inevitably, he has to get up again and focus on whatever interview he’s been giving, while regret burns like fire in his guts. And in this hurricane of emotions, amid the deafening winds, he can’t move or speak. The interviewer’s lips move with words that don’t quite reach him. Anguish consumes him and static fills his eyes and ears. The air around him is so thick it dulls his senses, leaving him vulnerable to his own thoughts. They bounce around inside his head, screaming endlessly, sentences running through each other until nothing makes sense anymore. He can’t do this. Not now, with Charles’ presence looming over him like swirling dark clouds over a city before a thunderstorm. He makes a quick excuse before running off.

Somehow, he manages to make it to his hotel room. The air should be breathable here, far away from the media, but it’s not. He shuts the blinds, packs his bags, makes the bed. When he’s done, he walks in circles, afraid to stand still because if he stops to dwell for even a fraction of a second, he’s back at square one. 

There’s no knock on the door, no warning as Charles barges into Max’s room and walks up to him in a straight line before pushing him. If there was any air in his lungs before, it’s been knocked out of them as his back collides with the wall behind him. He doesn’t resist when Charles pins him in a corner. Charles’ eyes are narrow, rigid, customary warmth gone faster than summer showers on hot tarmac. It’s pointless to try and reach him, he realises. He’s far away, his eyes on Max but his focus somewhere else. 

“I don’t want to feel this way anymore.” Charles’ voice comes as fire, burning through the air around them, depriving Max of oxygen. It burns hot and fast, draining his blood as his heart hammers erratically. Charles’ face contorts with disgust when he speaks again. “Tell me how you deal with all of this.”

“Well, I’m the one who decided to break up.” Max coats his voice in ice, shields himself from Charles’ rage. 

That does it.

“Just tell me the truth for once in your damn life!” Charles grabs Max’s shirt with his fists and pulls, sending Max to the floor. Max catches himself, landing hard on the palms of his hands, but he has no time to recover before Charles forces him back against the wall again. His head inches away from Charles’ crotch and it doesn’t take too long for him to connect the dots.

“Charles, I’m not doing this,” he tries to argue, but Charles eagerly takes off his pants to reveal his boner stretch against his boxers. Max can see a little precum stain the fabric and blood starts to rush down his body involuntarily. Charles grabs Max’s hands and places them on the rim of his boxers before bracing himself against the wall.

There’s no point trying to resist, so Max strips down the final layer and takes Charles into his mouth before he can decide to back out. He mentally prepares himself to suck Charles off, but Charles’ hips jerk forward and a sharp pain shoots through his head as he hits the wall. He’s completely helpless as Charles jerks off in his mouth, but when he recovers from the shock, choking and gasping for air around Charles’ cock, everything feels right somehow. Charles moans get him closer and closer to the edge, adrenaline rushing through his system, setting his whole body on fire.

Charles’ hips buck again as he comes in Max’s mouth, and Max would have been relieved to hear his name escape Charles’ mouth by means of a moan if he hadn’t been preoccupied by his own need for release. Charles slips out of him and he swallows, panting as searing heat passes from his core all the way to his fingertips. As soon as he brings his hands down to touch himself, Charles grabs his wrists again, and Max can feel himself tremble against Charles’ grip. His entire body is begging for the sweet relief of orgasm, but he knows Charles is waiting for something.

“Please,” he whimpers. Before he can say anything else, Charles presses his thigh against Max’s crotch, pressing him further into the wall. Max’s scream is one of both pain and pleasure as he comes in his pants. He slips onto the floor as Charles moves away, feeling empty and alone even in the aftermath of such bliss. 

“Fuck,” Charles sighs as he sits down on the bed, flushed and sweaty with his jeans and boxers still pooling around his ankles. He’s so hot when he’s angry, Max thinks, but he immediately punishes himself for having that thought by forcing himself to look away from Charles.

“Yeah, you could say that.” Max wipes the remaining bit of cum off his lips with the back of his hand. Fatigue hits him all of a sudden and he sighs, shifting his position on the floor so he’s resting with his back against the wall. He’s cold, awfully aware of his wet pants as discomfort spreads through his body and replaces the bit of warmth Charles managed to make him feel. He doesn’t feel like arguing at all, but then again... “You know we can’t continue like this.”

Charles lets his head hang and hums softly, though Max can’t make out what that means exactly.  
“Why can’t we?” he asks, and the desperation on his face when he looks back again makes Max’s blood boil.

“Because you keep doing this.” 

“What?” 

“This!” Max raises his voice, gesturing at Charles’ face. “That stupid look you give me all the time!”

“I just want you to know how I feel-” Charles starts, but Max isn’t having any of it. Not anymore.

“No!” Max stands up and walks up to Charles, who has started to pull up his pants. “You just want to make me feel bad for you. What do you think? That we’ll get back together?” He probably sounds as desperate as Charles looks, but he couldn’t care less right now. 

“Well, I-”

“It’s over, Charles. We’re done.”  
And with that, Charles is back to how he was in the morning; fuming on the inside but his face frozen over. He’s miles away, eyes unfocussed as he scans the room as if he’s mentally saying goodbye to it. 

“Right.” He’s staring at the wall behind Max. “I’ll go then.”

Before Max can process what’s going on, the door is closed and he’s alone. He wants to think he’s won, that he’s conquered his feelings Charles for real this time.

He’s not sure he has.


End file.
